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Friday, March 29, 2013

I heard an urban legend once about a woman who found mushrooms growing in her bathroom. And by urban legend I mean it happened yesterday in my master bath. In my defense, we have a leaking shower door, and I found the fungi when I was experimenting with how easy it would be to remove the door without Brian divorcing me for ruining more of our house with my "ideas" that usually stem from some inspiring thing I pinned from Pinterest that require more skill to complete than I possess and replace it with a fancy shower curtain. When I slightly unscrewed the door from the frame and bent it back a little I discovered that there is approximately four inches of now corroded and sludge-filled aluminum framing that my cleaning implements have never reached. This has become a safe haven for the mire that collects from four years of daily showering. It has also been a perfect breeding ground for mold and/or nasty little mushrooms that yes, would look adorbs in a fairy scene, but are the nastiest.things.evah. when found not only in your home, but in the place you go to get clean.

I immediately stopped cleaning and started googling contractors, because I'm pretty sure the only way to handle that situation is to do a complete remodel.

Then Esther, in a fantastic display of noise and destruction, grabbed on to the curtains in the living room and swung her full kindergarten body weight from them. She was all, "I'M HAVING A CIRCUS!" and then freaked the heck out when her performance ripped the front window curtains and rod completely out of the wall. Homegirl even bent the anchors that were holding them in place. Because we homeschool, I'm calling it a chance physics lesson, and am using this as yet another example of why homeschooling works, y'all.

Last week I called Brian in a panic because something is in our attic and you'd better come home and kill it because if you don't I'm leaving with the kids because I'm not waiting around here for what I'm pretty sure is a pterodactyl to claw it's way through the ceiling and find me and eat my face off. Brian thought I was being "ridiculous" and maybe a bit "dramatic" and maybe even questioned the validity of my claim that there was even anything really in the attic. Could it perhaps just be the hail outside pounding on the roof? Um, unless hail responds to me banging on the ceiling with my broom and yelling, "DUDE! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" by ceasing to claw/chew the attic framework and scurrying (*gag*) away from my aggressive broom wielding, then, no, it wasn't just the hail.

Two nights ago Brian and I were in bed at the end of a long day when right above our heads I heard our little friend. I waited silently, and sure enough, Brian finally conceded that he heard it as well but it was probably just a little mouse or a rabid squirrel that was trying to enter the master bedroom in order to eat my face off. I got the heeby-jeebies and clung to Brian until he got up and hit the ceiling with a plastic hanger and the rabid squirrel mouse was all, "Yes, Mommy Dearest" and ran away. Five minutes later it came back because apparently whatever is directly over our bed is delicious. (I put in ear plugs so I could sleep because it was the freakiest thing ever.)(I'm just saying that if I wanted to live among nature I would sleep in the woods.)(Preferably in the Great Smoky Mountains.)(Because it's gorgeous there.)(And warmer than Michigan.)(But they don't have Tim Hortons.)(So that's why I live here.)

After all the perils of a life spent owning this house I've decided the only logical conclusion is to move. Because if we stay we have to deal with all the above problems and this one from almost a year ago:

"Kel, no way is the Super Nanny hole still in the wall."
Believe it, my friend. And with the original piece of paper still covering it up.
#whatyoucan'tseeisnotreallythere
#delusional#lazy #busy

Anyone want to buy a house? Rabid squirrel is thrown in for free. You're welcome.

(Some more "housekeeping" *giggle*. Someday soon the doomsday prophets have foretold that Google Reader will be gone. I love and appreciate dearly every one of my readers and don't want to lose anyone. I've signed up with Bloglovin and you can follow me there. It's as easy as a click on the button. Will you do it for me? Pretty please and thank you.)

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

It has been, in the words of Mrs. Nested herself, bananas around here.

I had all week long to prepare for Eve's 10th birthday party (which involved hosting a gaggle of little girls on a Saturday afternoon). The plan was to shop after my workouts throughout the week so I could spend Friday evening prepping games, wrapping prizes, and assembling goody bags. This was to take place after I had leisurely done the grocery shopping, purchasing our weekly food and all the goods to make the requested homemade mac-n-cheese and the super fun Sundae-Bar-in-lieu-of-cake. It was a fantastic plan that I looked forward to implementing. Then our garage door was all, "Haha. Wouldn't this just be the perfect time for me to require $211 worth of attention?" And I was all, "WHY THE HECK DID I EVER WANT TO BE A GROWNUP?!?!" and had to scratch all those plans and wait to shop until pay day, which was, of course, the day before the party.

Thankfully I had four helpers with strong opinions on sprinkles to help me shop for ice cream toppings. It really made the job fly by.

Brian playing Hangman with the girlies during lunch.
Not the best pic, but I didn't want anyone's kid's
face on the internets without permission. Also,
Hosanna decorated all by herself.

The party on Saturday was so.much.fun. I seriously love my little girlie's friends. Thirteen little girls played together for almost three hours and there was no drama. At all. We played two Minute to Win It games, ate gobs of mac-n-cheese, made bracelets (thank you, Pinterest), and ate our ice cream sundaes. My Sister Wife Rachel stayed for the party and we got to hang out a bit and plan a PIG OUT AT WHOLE FOODS Trip to Whole Foods to Eat Responsibly Take Two*. (*Because remember my Summer Bucket List? The one where I really wanted to eat at the Whole Foods buffet because the vegetarian lasagna seriously speaks to me? Like, I pass it in the store and it's all, "Duuuuuude ... I'm delicious." And sometimes it visits me in my head at home and whipsers (don't ask why, but apprently vegetarian lasagna is quiet and gentle) "Kelly, absence does make the heart grow fonder." After I wrote out that Bucket List I ended up going to the WF's by Lauren's house and it totally sucked so I was *forced* to eat a giant peanut butter brownie instead of lasagna. So Rachel and I are going to visit the WF on my side of town and try again.)(And again, if necessary.)(Perseverance is an admirable quality.)

On Saturday night Brian ended up doing our weekly grocery shopping while I played Sudoku on the iPad tackled household chores that had been neglected due to the party. Sunday was Brian's birthday. I celebrated this by waking up at 5:30 and running at the gym. I came home in time to kiss the Birthday Boy, jump in the shower, and pile in the van for church. I did make him an awesome dinner that included homemade pita bread and a strawberry jello/cream cheese/pretzel dessert thing he really likes. So, I didn't totally fail in the Wife Department. (Right, honey?)

Monday was destined to be a train wreck of party let down and residual weekend sugar rush. I decided I'd better start to potty train Ezra.

(If you've read this blog long enough you know that I am nailing this parenting thing.)

(Since I'm fully ten years on the job, I think I've achieved Expert Level Parent at this point. I mean, I've only kicked one hole in the wall, which we can all agree is a pretty good average. One hole in ten years? Mother of the DECADE, that's what that is.)

So with all that experience under my belt, and impeccable timing, Monday was the day to teach the boy to pee in the potty. (Also on Monday? Aunt Flo arrived, sore throat flared, and official Day One of triathlon training.)

I'd already shame-bought Lightning McQueen underpants at Target because Ezra's speech therapist pulled me aside like a drug dealer and mentioned Ezra was hiding when he needed to poop, which was a sure sign the kid was ready to potty train. I am of the parenting camp where if *I'm* not ready, neither is my kid. (I'm sure this parenting philosophy will stand up flawlessly during puberty as well.) So I bought the underpants and they had been living happily in the dresser drawer with all the pajamas and socks ... until Ezra discovered them and put them on every day over his diaper. Baby steps, right?

"But Mo-om, they look so much betterover my diapers." Also? He totally got
dressed all by himself, which explains
why is shirt is on upside down. Takethat, Fine Motor Apraxia.

But on Monday he was going to wear them the right way. We put on his underpants, ate breakfast, and sat on the potty for twenty minutes and not a darn thing happened. I read books and sang songs and did squats. Ezra told me, "All done" about fifty times before I let him off. (A watched pot never boils, amIright?)

He ran straight from the half bathroom where we were hanging out to another bathroom across the house, slammed the door, and locked it. This is his favorite bathroom because it's where the toothpaste lives. In Ezra's world, toothpaste is a variety of things. It is hair gel. It is finger paint. It is toilet seat cleanser. It is a food group. It is a weapon. I stood outside the door trying to not sound mad so I could coerce him into unlocking the door. Thankfully Mama sounded sweet and fun to be around so he unlocked the door. Well, mostly he unlocked the door because he just wanted privacy to do his business and he was done now thankyouverymuch. I sighed and headed to the living room to change him from his urine soaked socks, pants, and underpants.

This is when I realized that all those years I spent thinking I was useless in baseball because I was scared of the ball was just wasted time, because when his underpants were stripped quickly from his body and his unexpected turd went flying, I didn't hesitate to dive for it and caught it in my hand. To save the carpet. Because that would've been really gross. You know, grosser than holding it myself.

So, I think it's safe to say that potty training day one was a success.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Brian is holding my hand. He is olive skinned, so even on this dreary March day he is rocking some nice color. I am albino-like.

Kelly: Dude, I am so white.
Brian: Always.
Kelly: I'm alabaster. Porcelain.
Brian: Just as long as you're not dirty porcelain.
Kelly: (gives him a look.)
Brian: That could be your rap name. Dirty Porcelain. *throws up gang signs* DP!
Kelly: The kids do grip me when they puke.
Brian: (is busy doing a poor attempt at the Roger Rabbit)
Kelly: Plus I catch a lot of crap.
Brian: D.P.!

Friday, March 22, 2013

Confession: I may or may not be guilty of literally misusing the word "literally". I mean, it's rare that my head literally explodes. Sometimes I catch myself before I make the Drama Queen mistake and substitute the correct word, like, "I am so hungry I could figuratively eat a horse". (We've all seen what happens when someone miscommunicates about eating horse meat.)(If you are so hungry you could literally eat a horse, a furniture store that also sell meatballs might care so much about meeting your needs that they make it happen.)(It's okay, IKEA, we've all been there.)(Sike.)

So when I say that "chocolate literally goes straight to my booty," I'm probably remembering yesterday when I sat in chocolate. That chocolate literally went straight to my booty. I walked around in public all.day.long, looking like I'd literally pooped my pants. Awesome.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Because I'm such a hardcore athlete, my heart rate is around 150 bpm when I run. If I really push it with fartleks (stahp) I can reach 190 bpm. Last week I had a chance encounter with an Accidental Personal Trainer from Hell named Sharon*, who single-handedly maxed my heart rate to over 200 bpm without even a proper warm-up. She's lucky I didn't have a heart attack.

Before we talk litigation, I might need to clarify that I've never met Sharon in person. I don't know if she has any kind of fitness training because I've never asked her credentials. Stupid to put my personal well-being at her mercy, right? In my defense I was fully unprepared for our exchange that left me panting for breath with my heart about to leap out of my throat.

I mean, who expects a phone call concerning medical billing to get your heart pumping and leave your face flushed in a pique of rage over incompetence and horrid customer service? (Oh, everyone? Sorry, I always forget what's undoubtedly going to happen until it's too late and it would be rude to hang up.)

This is roughly my totally unbiasedbest recollection of the exchange between me and Sharon* in the billing department of a local hospital. The parts in pink are not things that I actually heard out loud, and may not be in any way based upon reality but I'm pretty sure this is what was going on inside Sharon's head.

Sharon = Local Hospital, this is Sharon, how can I help you? *internal giggle* I'm totally not going to help you. I will laugh at your problems and tell all my friends about you when I discuss Crazy People I Deal With.

Kelly = Hi Sharon, I'm so glad I get to speak with you today. I'm having a bit of a problem and I hope you can help me. Hi, yeah. I've been dealing with this PROBLEM that you 100 percent caused for six months and I just got off the phone with the collections agency you sent me to and they sent me back here and you need to fix this.

Sharon = Name and date of birth please. Awesome, a really mad woman. I haven't dealt with a really mad woman since my last phone call.
Kelly = Here is the pertinent information and I will not put it on my blog because I'm not retarded. But for the record, we are dealing with Ezra's speech therapy.

Sharon = So what can I help you with? Please, yell at me a little while I have no recourse because your issue is with company policy and not anything I can change in one phone call.
Kelly = Well, in August we started speech therapy through Early On.

Sharon = Early On, the state funded program that supplies ten FREE therapy sessions for children in Michigan but only at two locations, both of which are about 20-30 miles from your home something you are obviously still a little bitter about?

Kelly = Yes, Sharon, FREE therapy that you billed 1. my insurance company for and 2. me for because you didn't process my paperwork in time. You know, the ONE HUNDRED TWENTY DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS for ONE HALF HOUR of speech therapy for a two year old? (This last information exchange totally never happened. It's a little writing technique where I make stuff up to creatively supply you with the applicable information you need in an entertaining way.)(You're welcome.)(Sharon and I both know all about how Early On works and what it is for.)(But Sharon doesn't know how far the therapy was from our home.)(I threw that in for free.)(Just kidding, Imma send you a bill for $120.50)(And *that's* how a gangsta makes money.)

Sharon = Let me look up your account while I roll my eyes at my coworkers because you can't see me anyway. And I know you are already steaming but $120.50 ain't a thing in the medical world. Honey, $120.50 is the price of four Tylenol, as long as they are administered by an RN.SHE TOTALLY PUTS ME ON HOLD.

Sharon = It looks like Anita* contacted us in September about this. Poor Anita. I hope you were nicer to her.

Kelly = Anita, the receptionist in the speech department who is awesome, did contact you in September about this. And twice in October. And in November. And three times in December. And when the January statement sent me to a collections agency, Anita apologized to me because although we have not been a patient there in months we have talked on the phone regularly and she is as puzzled as I am about this whole situation. And yes, I was nicer to Anita because I am generally a really nice person except when this mess has dragged on as long as it has and because the collection agency already told me the real problem and I am beyond pissed about it. But I am champing at the bit because you are about to act like you fixed everything and I know better.
Sharon = It looks as thoughyou don't owe this money andwe are just waiting for a refund. Chill out lady, I found the answer.
THIS IS MY FAVORITE PART OF THE WHOLE SITUATION.

Kelly = Yeah, I talked to Amanda* at the collection agency about that.

GET READY.

Kelly = So, we are in agreement that I do not owe this money, right?

Sharon = Yes.

Kelly = And we are in agreement that I should not ever pay this money, right?

Sharon = Yes.

Kelly = Then please clear it off my account, and tell collections to leave me alone.

Sharon = I can't do that. We are waiting for Aaron* - who is an employee at this hospital and works in our billing department - to issue a refund to your insurance company, then your account will be cleared. Woo-hoo! Everything's cool! We can all go away happy!

Kelly = So. Let me be clear (Presidential quotes, now they know I'm legit). You are saying that until the Big Business Hospital refunds the Big Business Insurance Company for the $120.50 they wrongly paid for the first therapy session in which you wrongly charged them, which was totally a mistake on both sides that has nothing to do with me, I am being sent to collections for a bill I do not owe.

Sharon = Yes.

Kelly = And you are not going to take this $120.50 off my account, effectively charging me for your clerical error and incompetence.

Sharon = I can't clear your account, no.

This is when I requested a manager and was told that all three managers (Melvina*, Sheryl*, and Danni Ann*) were out on a lunch break. At the same time.

And then I lost my stuff.

On the bright side, I totally got my heart rate to hover in the upper 100's long enough to consider this phone call a cardio session. Because that's how exercise works. Maybe Sharon is the new Jillian. 30 Day Shred - Customer Service Edition.

Monday, March 18, 2013

If you are not on Twitter don't worry about it, because it's as confusing as heck you should get on Twitter just so you can follow Honest Toddler. Or you can just click on the handy link I will provide and enjoy the genius that is Honest Toddler without the condemnation of stumbling around with poor Twitter socialization skills.

I love love love HT because I'm pretty sure this is what Ezra would say if he could talk. Here are a few of my favorite Honest Toddler tweets.

Friday, March 15, 2013

I don't want to get too bragg-y, but in terms of my running speed, I'm pretty solidly in the 40th percentile. Roughly 60 percent of the other runners in the race will cross the finish line before me. I'm okay with that because 30 percent are finishing after me*, which I'm sure we all can agree is the main point of races. You know, to beat somebody.

(*Even at my slowest, my very first 5K was comprised of both walkers and runners so I was guaranteed a middle-of-the-pack but totally an end of the pack for runners finish.)(It's not like any of the walkers passed me while I was running.)(That would be ridiculous.)(It totally happened.)(But if it did happen, it would have been by a cracked out power walker wearing Shape Ups.)(One who, if having incorporated just a little more bounce in her step would have technically been considered jogging.)(I'm going to suggest some of these "walkers" get tested for performance enhancing drugs before races.)(Because if there's one thing we learned from Lance, it's how to look bored out of your mind while confessing your contrition when you get caught doing the thing you spent your career vehemently swearing you didn't dothat it is possible for a Damage Control Publicity Tour to make you seem like more of a jackhole than the initial infraction ever did that victory obtained through falsehood isn't true victory.)

As I was picking my races I thought, "It might be really cool to do an Olympic distance triathlon this summer." The Olympic distance is twice as long as the Sprint distance I did last year. I spent a few days warming up to the idea, looked up a good race, and committed. I was going to do an OLYMPIC DISTANCE TRIATHLON. I wrote out my training plan and took some time to revel in my own Bad-A self. It was while I was dwelling on my awesomeness, picturing myself competing in this particular race, when I was struck by a horrifying thought.

(If you are a runner, there are a few acronyms you pick up along the way. "PR" stands for the Personal Record, "LSD" is the long slow distance I drop every Sunday before church, and "ACL" is an injury to avoid like the plague. Some acronyms you learn to save time, some to be cool, and some just for plain old survival. There is one such survival acronym in my arsenal that I never-evah-evah (Sorry Ms. Jackson)(forevah-evah?) wanted to see associated with my name.

D F L.

Dead Effing Last.)

I realized, what with the size (this race is very small. Last year about 120 people raced the Sprint. Only seventeen raced the Olympic. Of those seventeen, two were women.) and caliber of athlete competing in this race (last year's slowest time - by a lot - for Olympic was 2:53:46), if I do the Olympic Distance Triathlon I want to do, there is a huge chance I will finish last. Like last out of the whole entire race. Both Sprint and Olympic combined. DFL.

"So, Kelly, what's the big deal, find a different race." I know. I could just find something bigger and stop being such a drama queen get on with life. But I like this race. And now I have a mental challenge on top of the physical challenge of racing. Can I emotionally handle being DFL?

So I've taken the first step. (Admitting you have a problem is the first step, right?) I've also taken the official next step, which I've decided is "Contact the race organizers and make sure there is not a time cut off for the Olympic distance." Because the only thing more embarrassing than a DFL finish is the one you are not allowed to finish because you're TFS*.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

You know that day when you are the World's Best Mother? Your kid (Eve) is going spazz-nuts-bonkers and throwing some huge tantrum over a supreme injustice involving the wrong color tights to wear to church, and you calmly step in and redirect her. But not before having a heart to heart where you really bond. And a Major Life Lesson is received under the light background strains of 90's sitcom Conflict Resolution music. It is a very Full House moment.

That totally happened to me. I was the World's Best Mother.

Then.

Two more tantrums. From two more children. All within the twenty minutes we had left to get ready to go tochurch.

Being the upstanding Christian woman I am, I lost my stuff.

Twenty minutes later I found myself in a silent and tension filled minivan, cuh-razy embarrassed over *my* tantrum which probably included the phrases (yelled, of course) "WHY CAN'T WE EVER JUST GO TO CHURCH IN PEACE?" and "FINE! DON'T BE NICE TO YOUR SISTER. HAVE FUN TALKING TO JESUS ABOUT THAT!" and, my personal favorite, "WHAT AM I, YOUR MO- ... (scrambling thoughts, because yeah, um, I totally am your mom) I AM NOT THE MAID!"

I sneaked a peek at Brian who was driving us to church. He was just chilled out, driving the van like nothing had happened. I risked a tiny, "Sorry I was a jerk." And louder still, to the occupants of the back seats, "Sorry Mama was mean and threw a fit." They all forgave me because my family is awesome even when they treat me like the maid. Then Brian turned to me and said,

"Kel, what you did with Eve's tantrum was great. That was spot on. You handled that perfectly. The other two ... well, you need to work on that. If you were a baseball player your batting average would be .333, which is pretty decent. Especially in the majors. So don't beat yourself up too much. You have a professional level batting average. You are a Major League Mom and you are by far the best speller in the familyand you're right, I shouldn't hang my dirty clothes on the bed post."

Friday, March 8, 2013

Many of you started reading this blog last summer at the height of my physical fitness. I was training for and completed my very first triathlon, and was in full-on Beast Mode. Maybe you've noticed that for months now lately my posts have been decidedly un-health related. There is a simple reason for that. Winter is my season to get fat hibernate and recover from the constant stress I put on my body during training.

But guess what? It's almost spring and the time for preparation has come. This race season is already in full effect. So buckle your seat belts, kids, Mama's in for the long haul.

(You're all, "Dude, who is this person?")

(And I'm like, "I know, right? It's like I've been replaced with the nerdier version of me.")
(To which you reply, "Nerdier version? Is that even possible?")

I'm a planner. I love, love, love to plan. My plans have plans. (Remember Black Friday?) I'm pretty sure that's why I love Pinterest so much. It's like the Land of Eternal Plans.

One of my favorite things to do in February is plan my race schedule for the year. I get out the calendar and commit to a million races that all look like the best.races.ever. Then I have a bit of a reality check because races cost money. And so do diapers (which I am still buying because I suck at potty training.)(And maybe I stress ate an entire package of Ezra's potty training M&M's yesterday.)(So it may be a while before the kid has any incentive to pee in the potty because Mama is not going shopping for a few days.) A girl can only afford/justify paying to run in a race forfun so many times. I had to scale back my race dreams considerably.

Once my races are picked, I set up my training schedule. I usually train around the biggest races. (Duh.) This year I am training for three main races. A 10k in April (due to injury and two weeks of flu I am actually having to be pretty diligent about getting back to 10k form), a triathlon in July, and a half marathon in October.

Determining a training schedule actually takes quite a bit of time for me. Most triathlon training plans are written for 6 workout days a week, and I know I can only commit to 5. And since they involve swimming, biking, and running I have to factor in pool access, when I have the blocks of time to do long workouts (two hour bike rides, hour and a half runs, and brick workouts - which are usually long bike rides followed immediately with thirty minute runs), and how to follow long workouts with meaningful rest time. (For example: running an hour and a half Saturday, biking two hours Sunday, and running intervals on Monday probably isn't the best plan. Unless, of course, I'm planning for injury. Then it's a stellar plan.) Since my days off are Tuesdays and Fridays, this means I have to play a bit with any traditional schedules. (I mostly follow the plan(s) by Matt Fitzgerald. He knows his stuff and he's cute.)

For the 10k and half-marathon I just follow good ol' Hal Higdon. He hasn't failed me yet. I might modify the half plan slightly to include some speed work, but we'll see. For now here is a sample of my training plan. I picked June because it's in the middle to last part of my sixteen week training plan. It's intense but not crazy sick yet.

A work of art, amIright? Let me decode it for you.

Run workouts are red because "red" rhymes with "tread" which is short for "treadmill*." (Genius.) (*although I will mostly run outside on a non-treadmill surface.)

Bike workouts are brown because I didn't have orange. (Orange was my first pick because orange makes me think of creamsicles, which almost kind of has "cycle" right in the word.) I settled for brown because trail riding is by far my favorite (although I train for triathlon on the road) and brown reminds me of trail riding and that makes me happy.

I use black for information like race dates, recovery weeks, and taper weeks.

There are also a lot of codes involved in the training plan which makes it look a lot more hardcore than it is. These are just different drills and kinds of workouts. It's not that complicated once you know it. (Ex: TRR = Transition Run (a ten minute run after a bike workout to teach your legs to run after prolonged biking); SLI = Swim Lactate Intervals (a fancy way to say 'on a scale of 1-10, 10 being you are about to keel over, swim at a 9 for 75 yard intervals); CLH = Bike Long Hill Climbs (pretty much what it sounds like - a bike ride with a bunch of long hills (five minutes of steady climbing).

I feel so much relief at having a plan. Following The Plan means I have less chance of mortifying myself by barely stumbling across the finish line. Once I'm entrenched in training I don't have to think about what to do next which is good because all my brains cells are busy convincing me not to quit.

I am so excited to get into tri season. To all my fellow fitness nerds homies I say, "Happy Race Season! Hurrah!"

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

I've finally decided to do one of those a "Day in the Life" posts that get linked up every month or so. I can never seem to commit to link ups in a timely manner, and this is no exception. So I'm going out solo with this one.

I love the DITL posts because they help fulfill my stalker tendencies it's fun to see how other people spend their days. Since my days are all different I just picked a random Monday. So here is how this Monday went for me.

Alarm: 5:30 a.m. I spend about ten minutes deciding if I am going to commit to getting out of bed. Then I remember iced coffee is totally happening today. I sprint to the kitchen. I find my favorite green mug and pour a nice (cold) cuppa joe. I end up on the couch to do my Bible study, which is the perfect place to go when you first wake up and are determined to make it as hard as possible for yourself to stay awake.

Good morning, Internets. Um, yeah I did my hair for you. Did you really think this forehead 'fro occurs naturally?

I hit the computer, edit and post Monday's blog, and Facebook stalk for awhile.

I start to climb Mt. Laundry, making sure I am properly fueled for such an arduous task.

Baskets are in this order: delicates/children*, whites, darks.
*children's clothes; we don't wash the children in the machine. We use a hose outside the bathtub for that.

Oatmeal and peanut butter. Breakfast of champions. (215 calories)

We finish getting ready, pack our bags and head out the door at 8:30.

If you need an outfit that says "I can homeschool, fold the laundry, clean the kitchen, drive a minivan, and go boating all in one day" I've got a look for you. Eat your heart out, Mama Laughlin.

Library bag full of returns. Ezra's backpack for school. My purse full of things I need for errands. Pink crate for homeschooling.

Our first stop is the post office. We go to the exact same mailbox where my hand got stuck and I was almost arrested, sent to prison, and forced to eat bologna. Then the boy goes to school. (This is not really school because he is 2 years old, y'all; it's fancy pre-school for his apraxia. He and two other little boys get two and a half hours of therapy twice a week for the bargain price of a new car.)(But? He's totally starting to talk - can fluently say, "mine" - now, so, completely worth it.)

Mini Elmo backpack. So.cute.

The girlies and I run home to do a quick kitchen clean up (because we've got a half an hour to kill before the library opens) and then head to the library where we school on the days Ezra has therapy.

Today's show brought to you by the letter "W" and the number "13".

"Dude! I'm telling you, sister dear, that you need to use this formula to find the area!"

At 11:30 we pick up Ezra and head home for lunch. Today's menu is sandwiches and fruit for the kiddos, and leftover black bean and chicken fajita filling for me. I still do my fancy food journal calorie tracking.

"Mom - if I have to eat black beans in their natural state I will die. They look just like rabbit poop. I'd much rather eat this ham or salami that came directly from the body of a pig because it's not as gross."

Food journal for the real world. I think I'm going to post this on Pinterest. Super creative and pretty, right?

After lunch we read on the couch. The little ones get story books and then the big kids get a chapter from whatever we are reading. Oh, and we play Beauty Shop. (Don'tcha wish your Mama was hot like me?)

One of my favorite activities in the whole day is next: Quiet Rest time. Ezra takes a nap and the girlies all go to separate rooms and be quiet. I don't care what they do, as long as it is quiet.*

*And doesn't burn down the house. We had to add that rule last year when I caught Esther shoving baby wipes into the lampshade and blanketing the light bulb. And by "caught" I mean I walked into her room because I smelled smoke.

During Quiet rest I play on the computer and take a nap. I also eat a banana.

After QR we have a science lesson on the shape of water. (*Spoiler Alert* water has no concrete shape.)(Unless it's ice.)(Which is tomorrow's lesson.)

This is right before our kitchen table looked like a Crayola factory threw up all over it. Apparently "Make a chart and color different examples of the three forms of water" necessitates every coloring implement in the house.

Then we watch a super educational video on water than no one pays any attention to because I let them work on their graphic novels at the same time. Ezra wakes up from his nap and we follow a super educational water video with a super educational Disney Cars video while I make dinner.

The chicken is amazing. WW recipe here. Those two chicken breasts (I cut them in pieces) fed the six of us. Peas are a big hit in my house because you can launch them across the table at your sister. The mashed sweet potato is a "no thank you" helping side dish, meaning you have to eat enough to convince me you tried it. Because I'm the Mom, that's why.

I say goodbye to the fam and hit the gym, leaving them to clean up dinner. (Genius timing, Kel.) On the schedule is Ab Lab, arms/chest/back, and a 2.5 mile run. All the treadmills are in use so I hoof it around the track ... 40 times. (Yes, you read that. Four, zero.) I can't bring myself to take a selfie at the gym (where I am desperately trying to fit in with the dudes in the free weight section) but don't worry, I totally reenacted Ab Lab for you once I got home.

This is just like Ab Lab but picture me all
red-faced and looking miserable.

Get outie here!

(When you lie down to take Ab Lab pictures, your two year old will probably jump on your stomach while you grunt in surprise and pain. Then you will flip the camera around and be all, "Dude, show me your abs!" and he will do this.)

I take a shower, fold laundry as I watch Biggest Loser, and do this to my hair:

"Um, wow, Kel. That's ... um, why?"

Because on Tuesday morning I will do this:

And one final selfie, the Outfit of the Day (taken from above because I couldn't get my flash to turn off without the picture being super dark).

Trying to show off my bling. I'm wearing skinny jeans tucked into some brown boots. I'm also thinking about going into fashion writing.

About Me

Sublurban Mama ingredients: One part Mama, one part wifey, one part HARDCORE athlete, one part constant inappropriate giggles. Bake on high for 34 years (not a drug joke) and wrap up in a big Pinterest ribbon. All while listening to Needtobreathe. And drinking iced coffee. Probably.

Hi. I am so glad you are reading my blog. You are awesome. I hope you return every day. And tell your friends about me. In fact, you are welcome to repost anything you see on this blog, providing you credit me and link back to my site. Please and thank you. Have a special day, Friend. I hope it's filled with Tim Horton's Iced Capp. And rainbows. And surprise marathons of Hoarders filled with episodes you haven't seen yet. And maybe even a kitten. But mostly Iced Capp.